


Swords and Smirks

by Angelphoenixwings14



Series: ...What If? [2]
Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, F/M, Forgot to mention the gore, Gore, I just wanted to try and finish a one shot in a day, I succeeded, Non-Explicit Sex, Now I'm just having fun with tags I'm so sorry, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, There's No Point To This, not historically accurate, this is pure self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelphoenixwings14/pseuds/Angelphoenixwings14
Summary: What if Marta and Ransom lived in ancient times?  As in Marta is Egyptian, and Ransom is a Roman gladiator, and this is just for shits and giggles or something.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Series: ...What If? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741747
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	Swords and Smirks

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO. Everyone is probably like 'why did you write this and not an update for your other 2 fics?' Well, I'll tell you. It's because I slept like shit last night and had 0 focus for anything other than something utterly pointless and self-indulgent. So I decided to test myself and see if I could bust out SOME kind of one-shot in a single day, and this is what I got. Practice or something like that... and I meant to make this more smutty but it kinda took a curve on me. I tried.
> 
> Here's what you need to know:  
> 1\. This literally has nothing to do with Knives Out. I just shamelessly took Marta and Ransom and kicked them back into ancient times to fulfill this vague idea of a period piece I had in mind for them.  
> 2\. Marta is an Egyptian healer.  
> 3\. Ransom is a Roman gladiator (who doesn't want to see that fine boy as a gladiator unf.... just me? Bc lets be honest that's where this whole fucking thing came from).  
> 4\. Meg is in this, but her and Ransom are not related. That has nothing to do with the story, I just wanted to mention it.  
> 5\. Marta doesn't have her lie puking issue because I didn't have the wherewithal to deal with that.  
> 6\. Probably not historically accurate. I meshed a bunch of shit together from my distant studies of these ancient civilizations, TV, and my own imagination.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. Enjoy!

The Golden Age of the Roman-Egyptian alliance flourished all around them. From the grains and silks they traded, to open aid in political affairs, the societies were a force to be reckoned with. Marta didn’t much care for the grand scheme of it all, but it kept peace in the area… for the most part. She didn’t feel at all at peace as she sat in a spectator booth in Rome’s Coliseum next to her dear friend, Megara, and watched the brutality below.

She jolted as sharp swords clanged against heavy armor, the gladiators slicked with sweat and blood as they circled each other like barbarians. The Egyptian couldn’t make sense of it, nor the way her Roman counterparts cheered and booed their lungs raw with each terrifying moment.

“This is fun for you?” she asked Meg, perplexed and horrified, yet still unable to look away as an axe caught against a broadsword.

“Of course it is!” Meg panted, shifting forward in her seat excitably, fingers wringing into the rumpled cloth of her magenta toga. Marta spared her a glance, and noticed the twinkle in her dark eyes as she gawked at the fight. “Do you have any idea who’s down there?!”

“Obviously not,” Marta griped with a frown. She’d come to visit Rome with a shipment of grain in hopes of finding new medical supplies. Being a part of the palace’s healers, she always wanted to be up to date and well stocked on medicines and treatments, and Rome was one of the few other societies in the area able to provide what she needed. She hadn’t been able to pass up visiting her friend; however, which is how she found herself watching this ridiculous (and nauseating) event.

“That’s Titus and Ransom – only the best two gladiators in all of Rome!”

“Ransom?” Marta’s nose wrinkled at the odd name. Meg laughed at her.

“Just watch.”

Unfortunately, Marta did. With gross morbidity, she watched the two fighters ram at each other, her petite form startling any time their weapons clattered together or one suddenly slipped to the other. Her fingers twisted into the blue robes she wore over her tanned flesh, strangely apprehensive to see the conclusion of this fight. She hated to admit it, but the gladiators were impressive, almost graceful in their brutality. The one called “Ransom” wore shiny silver armor, almost white in the blazing sun. His opponent, Titus, had deep steel covering his bulging muscles. 

Both wore grandiose helmets fitting for Roman brutes, spittle flying past the slender opening that allowed them to breathe through mouth or nose. Finally, Ransom’s sword caught the inside of Titus’ armor, where the flesh of his neck was exposed and weak. Blood sprayed into the air as the gladiator let out a harsh grunt, and he lunged forward with the tip of his axe, where a sharp point protruded. Ransom twisted, evading the hit before he punched the hilt of his sword into Titus’ helmet. It twisted from the blow, blinding the man long enough that Ransom was able to jam his sword into the man’s side.

The Coliseum roared, deafening Marta as she tried not to get sick watching Titus sink to his knees. Ransom left his sword buried in his opponent’s side, but brought a knife out to set against his throat, his other hand resting against the top of Titus’ helmet to tip his head back. He waited, looking up near where Marta sat to the side of the Roman emperor’s booth. Her lips parted, and she glanced around uncertainly until the emperor lifted and held his thumb out sideways.

The crowd cheered, ravenous for blood, which the emperor interpreted for death and twisted his thumb down. Ransom didn’t budge though, looking around him to the crowd until their frenzy grew high enough to make Marta anxious. Screaming, lurching from their seats like toddlers throwing tantrums, they cried out for blood like it was the best thing to ever happen to them. Only then did Ransom yank his knife across his victim’s throat and let blood soak the sands.

“That’s why they call him Ransom,” Meg leaned over to tell her through the roars of everyone else. “He’ll only kill someone once the crowd’s energy is to his liking, holds his victims ransom in exchange for the mob’s screams.”

“That’s barbaric,” Marta balked, aghast. Meg laughed at her again, like _she_ was the crazy one, and started clapping along with the rest of the crowd. Ransom took off his helmet then, and once again Marta found herself gawking. Bright blue eyes practically shone with the sunlight, a thick head of dark hair matted along his sweaty brow. He had a chiseled jawline, and a dazzling smile of pure white teeth that sent half the crowd into a swooning mess.

She may have been among them, and unfortunately her companion noticed.

“Like what you see?” Meg teased, grinning at the flush on Marta’s cheeks. She couldn’t speak, which had her mischievous friend quirking a brow and chuckling. “Don’t worry. You’ll get to meet him tonight,” she promised, which only made Marta balk again.

“What?”

“The entertainment doesn’t stop here.”

~*~

Meg forced them to change for the evening, all the while gushing about the party they were about to attend. “There’s always a celebratory party for the victors of a tournament day. You’ll get to meet all the gladiators who triumphed today,” Meg explained, while fussing with the skirt of Marta’s silk dress until it looked pristine. Sections of the middle had been cut away, showing off her bronze flesh, and the tight bosom had a bold cutout down her sternum to tease at her breasts, and no back to expose the slender scape of muscles lining her spine. Meg had changed into a similar royal blue dress, though gold embroidered the shoulders and waistline, and it had a slit up one side of the skirt instead of exposed flesh along her torso. 

Marta ran a hand along her oblique, a contemplative frown on her lips. She didn’t know that she wanted to meet any of the gladiators after what she’d seen them do to their fellow men, but that uncertainty grew even worse when Meg said, “You can even purchase one as a companion for the evening.”

“ _What_?!” Marta gaped at her friend. “Why in the name of Ra would you want to do that?” Meg’s eyes slanted toward her, and she offered a sharp smile that immediately had Marta flushing. Marta braided her dark hair back to keep it out of her way, and accepted one of her friend’s rich gold necklaces to drape around her neck. It drew attention to the expanse of skin exposed at the center of her chest, but she feigned ignorance to it as a golden bracelet was clasped around her wrist.

They finished getting ready and headed to Meg’s friend’s estate, where the party was to be held. They entered an expansive parlor filled with rich textures and architect, from the painted floors to the pristine pillars and open ceiling that allowed starlight to bathe down on them. Living in the pharaoh’s palace, Marta was no stranger to opulence, but she found herself impressed with the foreign architecture. Already, the parlor was filled with people in thick, colorful togas and the latest dresses. A servant came around to offer them both goblets of wine, which both accepted without question.

Marta trailed after Meg as she greeted her friends and acquaintances, some of which took interest in Marta’s presence. For the most part, however, she was allowed to remain a passive observer, watching everyone gorge and drink to their heart’s content. The atmosphere was easy, warm with torchlight and laughter, and she nearly forgot about the bloodthirsty guests who were meant to join them.

Someone she didn’t know announced their presence, and a line of rugged, burly men entered the party, drawing everyone’s eyes like moths to flames. Marta found him instantly, his skin clean and chocolate hair slicked back into something far more tame than the unruly mess it had been earlier. His blue eyes were piercing, strong jaw locked as he stood among the others in robes that showed off far more of his rippling muscles than his armor had. 

Her throat dried as her eyes involuntarily raked down his body, his broad chest and cut abs meticulously perfected. Thick arms bulged with rigid muscles thanks to his clenched fists, and she noticed one giant bicep had soft medical cloth wrapped around it. The rest of the fighters had similar signs of the battles they’d come from, some more than others, but Marta couldn’t look away from his, remembering the slice he’d taken to his arm from that terrifying axe.

When she looked back up at his face, she found him staring at her, the deadly smile splitting his lips signaling she’d been caught staring. Her cheeks turned redder than the wine in her grasp, and she quickly twisted away to sip on it, her ears dumb to whatever their host was saying about the party. 

Everyone started clapping, and Marta stupidly joined in. She excused herself a moment later, retreating to a washroom to take a moment to herself and breathe. She took her time, and wandered through the party after, picking at some food with a fresh glass of wine. Someone stopped beside her, and when she looked to see who it was, she nearly fell and dropped her wine. The man didn’t move, only laughed at her in a manner lighter than she would’ve expected from someone with such a dark introduction to her life.

“What- um, h-hello,” she stammered, hardly able to meet his gaze. He quirked a brow at her, lips curving upward in another dangerous smile.

“Do you not speak the language well?” he teased, eying her darker skin appraisingly. Shocked, her lips parted as she looked up at him and flushed.

“No, I speak it fine,” she defended. He hummed, tipping his head as he mulled over her accent, before his smile grew bolder.

“Just me who ties your tongue, then?” he teased, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. She gaped, flabbergasted, and nearly sputtered all over again. Instead, a hysterical, nervous laugh escaped her as her cheeks once again grew rosy. He smirked, and _damn_ was it not fair how handsome he looked like that. Marta threatened to turn star-struck again, until her dark eyes wandered toward the bandage wrapping his arm. Frowning, she reached out before she could think better of it.

“Does it hurt?” she asked, her fingers falling short of touching him. Surprised, he glanced toward his arm, and then shrugged.

“It’ll heal,” he said simply. Blinking, her brows knit, but then she took a closer look at the exposed planes of his torso and noticed faint scars from what she could guess was an array of different blades marking his otherwise perfect body all over. She sobered, her expression tightening as she turned back toward her food.

“Ransom. That’s quite the name,” she muttered dryly, unsure how to feel about the barbarian beside her. He watched her intently, a smirk twitching at his lips. He stepped forward, and Marta immediately stiffened as he breached her personal space. He damn near pressed himself up against her side, the heat of his lingering presence making her hair stand on end. His breath ghosted the shell of her ear, dragging goose bumps to life across the back of her neck.

“My broadsword isn’t the only sword I have with a reputation,” he whispered huskily, hips finally pressing against the back of her thigh. Marta’s eyes widened in horror at the pressure she felt, thick and hard between their clothes. Lurching away, she whipped around to face him, jaw locked. Aghast by his predatory smile, Marta twirled around and stormed off in search of her friend. Her heart pounded, heat radiating from her cheeks with embarrassment (and a trace of lust she thoroughly denied feeling).

“Meg!” Marta hissed once she spotted her friend, hanging off the arm of another burly fighter. She swayed a little, clearly entranced with her score for the evening, until Marta grabbed her arm and hissed her name again.

“What?!” she griped, looking at her friend in bewilderment.

“Ransom-“ she stilled, feeling his presence again. The way Meg’s eyes drifted above her confirmed he’d followed her, but she looked more intrigued than anything.

“Yes? He’s yours,” Meg confirmed, as if she expected Marta to know this already. Shocked, she once again found her legs a little unsteady and threatening to give out.

“W-what?!” She gaped like a fish, causing Meg to blink at her.

“I bought him for you,” she explained slowly.

“ _What_!” Marta guffawed, though Meg acted like she hadn’t spoken her bewilderment at all and held a finger up.

“It’s just for one night, so make the best of it, okay?” Meg flashed a smile and waved before tugging her own arm candy off. “Have fun!” she called over her shoulder, before she left Marta to face her prize. When she turned around, she found him smirking.

~*~

Thanks to Meg’s unbidden purchase, Marta and Ransom were offered a room in the estate to enjoy their evening together. Only, Marta couldn’t stop pacing the lavish room, the golden fixtures and silk sheets unnoticed by the fretful woman. Ransom lounged against the bed, watching her tip back and forth like a pendulum with muted interest. 

“Are you a virgin?” he finally asked, unsure why else she’d be so beside herself with angst. She startled to a standstill at the inquiry, her eyes locking onto him sharply.

“What? No,” she answered before she could think better.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Whu-“ she flushed indignantly. “I’m not a whore!” Ransom actually laughed at that.

“If anyone’s the whore here, it’s me,” he teased, seemingly at ease with the situation. Marta paused to consider that maybe he was at ease because he was used to it, a whore in more than one way. Surprised by the revelation, she blinked and stared at him for another long moment. He didn’t shy away from the scrutiny, and eventually pat the bed beside him to encourage her closer. She hesitated, but then felt her body move on its own accord.

She rounded the bed, aware of how he watched her like a hawk the whole time. Pressing one knee into the bed, she carefully climbed atop the plush mattress, the sheets gliding through her fingertips as she made her way toward Ransom. He searched her face, eyes flickering over her broad cheeks and narrow chin admiringly. 

“You’re quite beautiful,” he finally noted, hand gripping around her braid to tug her closer. Her breath hitched, fingers splaying against his chest to catch herself from falling. She was shocked at how smooth her skin felt even with the faded scars, and how pliant his thick muscles seemed for the moment. Her wide eyes flickered between his piercing blue gaze, their breaths mingling between them and making her lips tingle.

“And you’re quite deadly,” she murmured quietly. He flashed a Cheshire smile.

“Some people find that attractive,” he mused, tipping his chin up to nearly graze their lips together.

“I don’t,” she breathed, earning a breathy chuckle from the gladiator.

“Don’t you?” His fingers twisted her braid, angling her head slightly before he pressed his lips to hers softer than she anticipated. The gentle graze of silken flesh had her heart lurching into her throat, and she moaned before she could stop herself. She felt Ransom smile against her lips, before he pressed against her a little more wholly, his mouth fully enveloping hers as he brought her tiny body to rest atop his. 

Warmth spread through her quickly, his body hardening beneath the timid press of her fingers. When their lips parted, his tongue grazed her bottom lip before dipping into the crevasse of her mouth. She groaned as his tongue pressed against her own, the heat between them growing intoxicating as she let her grip slide lower on his body. She felt him twitch, and his hips pressed up to pin his growing erection against her thigh. Her heart skipped a beat, but then she parted her knees to properly straddle his lap. 

His hand slid down from her hair, admiring the smooth skin exposed at her back until he reached lower and cupped her rear. He gave it a generous squeeze, and had her core tingling before he guided her into rolling against him. A groan escaped him, swallowed by her mouth as their tongues lashed together in a different kind of battle. She tipped forward, eager to taste and feel more of him, when her hand touched to the cloth on his arm. He tensed, an anguished groan escaping him that had Marta reeling back.

“It doesn’t hurt, hm?” she chastised as she sat in his lap, looking from his injury to his face. He huffed at her, the look in his eyes marvelously dazed.

“I think I said it’d heal,” he corrected. Her lips pressed together in a thin line until he reached up with his good arm and stroked his thumb along her blushing cheek. “Most of my life is pain and blood. I won’t let one little cut keep me from tasting something sweeter,” he purred, the rich rumble of his voice turning her stomach into a fluttery mess.

“You’re poetic for a brute,” she murmured quietly. He chuckled and trailed his fingers down the elegant curve of her neck. His hand wrapped around the tender flesh, squeezing just enough that she could taste the power behind his muscle mass.

“Would you prefer I be more of a brute?” he drawled. In spite of herself, Marta shuddered. She didn’t answer, just let her lusty leer droop to the sheen on his lips. He dragged her forward, sealing their lips in another blazing kiss. When she set her hand to his chest, she felt his heart pound like a drum beneath her fingertips. His words struck her, and she decided if she couldn’t lay salve to his physical wound, she’d offer one for his soul. 

_It’s just for one night._ One night where they didn’t have to be what they were. A killer or a healer, Roman or Egyptian. They were just two people bound by pleasure, enraptured by skin and quiet moans, living in a moment of bliss as they mouthed at each other’s heated flesh and rocked together in euphoric passion. And when the blaze of their lust petered out to embers, leaving them both panting and sweaty in a tangle of sheets, Marta let her still dilated gaze flicker over the gladiator’s face, amazed at how serene his formerly sharp expression looked.

Beautiful could just as easily describe him in that moment, but she didn’t tell him that. She just tipped forward to press their lips together again, and curled in his arms to let his evening of sweetness last a little longer.


End file.
